"In the Company of Wolves" for rthstewart
After working on julie's Twilight/Harry Potter prompt, I thought rthstewart's would be a lot easier. Hah. I deluded myself in thinking so. It was a lot harder than I thought!
Title: In the Company of Wolves
Spoilers: Buffy Season 2, post-Phases; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (bookverse)
Prompt: Remus Lupin, Oz, pints of Guinness at the Three Broomsticks
All species capable of grasping this fact manage better in the struggle for existence than those which rely upon their own strength alone: the wolf, which hunts in a pack, has a greater chance of survival than the lion, which hunts alone.
- Christian Lous Lange
***
As soon as he walked into the village, he wondered if he had taken a step back in time.
The scene before him looked as if belonged in a Currier and Ives print. With the entire area blanketed in snow, the picturesque village of Hogsmeade seemed to have popped out of an old-fashioned Christmas card. Bits of garland and ribbon peeked out from beneath the snow-dusted eaves and around the lamp-posts that lined the street. Holly wreaths hung from almost every door and he caught sight of berries tucked amongst the leaves, their ruby color dulled slightly by the frost.
It was very much like a scene from those period films that Willow enjoyed from time to time. And yet he knew this was not an ordinary place; there was definitely something usual about this Scottish village.
He turned his head slightly to look at the lamp-post beside him. With traces of snow clinging to the metal, the iron post appeared to be grey. Using a gloved hand, he brushed some of the flakes off, revealing a small patch of the dull black color beneath. He tilted his head back, looking up at the lantern atop the pole. Light flickered from within the glass panes, the orange flames glowing brightly and adding a spot of color to the wintry white landscape. The lamp-post itself wasn't unusual; its Victorian shape fit perfectly within the confines of the village.
He knew that in the old days, people would go around the town to manually light the street lamps. It wasn't a surprise to see the cheery flames burning brightly inside this particular lantern. What made it unusual was that the glowing orb was floating inside its cage. He watched as the fireball slowly bounced up and down and moved side to side within the glass box.
"Huh." A pale, white cloud blossomed before him as he let out a breath when he spoke. He watched it briefly until the wind blew it away, vanishing into the cold air. He then turned his attention back to the lamp-post. "Narnian, perhaps?" he murmured quietly with amusement, thinking of the old children's book about a girl, a lamp-post, and a wintry wonderland.
Considering the unusual nature of Hogsmeade, it would not surprise him at all if he should happen across a faun walking down the high street with packages in his arm and carrying an umbrella. For good measure, he swept away the snow at the base of the lamp-post with the bottom of his boot and took a quick look at the ground. The decorative panels at the base were firmly attached to the sidewalk with thick metal screws, and not growing up out of the stone and cement. Clearly not Narnian then.
He shook his head, chasing the irrelevant thoughts away. As he resumed his walk, he thought back to the events that led him here. One memory after another played in his head, the scenes appearing as both a timeline and slideshow in his mind. His cousin Jordy sucking playfully on his finger before the young boy bit him. The sudden aches and pain that began to plague him a month ago. The phone call to Aunt Maureen. Waking up naked in the forest with no recollection of what he had been doing. The Slayer, the Gang and the hunter.
The kiss with Willow.
He smiled to himself, the happy thought bringing a welcome warmth that flowed through his chilled limbs. Willow. It was because of her that he was here.
He looked around, eyes darting left and right as he glanced at the shops along the street. Despite the festive decorations, the village seemed eerily quiet. The street wasn't empty; up ahead he could see a few people walking about, flitting quickly from one store to another without stopping or looking around. The only sound he could hear came from below him, his boots crunching loudly in the snow with each step he took.
He picked up his pace, remembering his contact's instructions. In the message, there had been a mention of a curfew after dusk. Perhaps that explained some of the gloom that permeated the town.
His destination was halfway up the narrow street. It was a squat building with two floors and unlike most of the other shops, it gave off a friendlier aura with curls of smoke rising out of the chimney and bright lights glowing through the fogged up windows on the ground floor.
The sign above the door creaked as the wind forced it to swing slowly in the air. As it moved, a small cascade of snow fell from the top of the wooden plaque, revealing a drawing of three crossed broomsticks. Shivering from the cold, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He was instantly greeted by the scent of smoke and ale; the smells were strong and sharp to his sensitive nose. He looked around, trying to find a particular face amidst the crowded tables.
"Can I help you?" asked the woman that approached him. She was older than his mother but with a pretty face and curvy figure that took several years off her age. Her brightly-color heels clattered along the wooden floor. "Are you looking for a room or a table?"
"Are you Rosmerta?" he asked.
She nodded and smiled slightly.
He took a breath and recited the lines from the letter. "May you have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night and-"
"-a smooth road all the way to your door," she said, completing the phrase. Her eyes widened and she glanced surreptitiously around. And then in a louder voice, "Yes, we do have some rooms to let. If you'll follow me, I'll show you what's available."
She led him upstairs where a narrow hallway greeted them. Doors lined either side and she continued down the corridor until they reached the far end. With a bejeweled hand, she rapped three times on the last door.
After a minute, they heard a click as the lock turned from the other side. The door slowly swung open and after a nod from Rosmerta, he stepped inside. The room was dark but he could see a tall figure sitting at a table by the window. The man gestured to the empty chair on the opposite side.
As he took his seat, the landlady poked her head through the doorway but didn't enter. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, the question directed at both of them. "Butterbeer? Gillywater? Or perhaps something stronger?"
"Two pints of the Firewhiskey, if you don't mind, Rosmerta," said the other man in a voice that sounded both weary and hoarse.
"Not at all. Anything else?"
With a quick glance at him, the man added, "And if there's any left, perhaps two pints of that strange brew Kingsley brought back a few years ago when his assignment in Muggle London was over."
Rosmerta nodded and slipped out, quietly pulling the door shut behind her.
The room was still for several minutes as they studied each other. He kept his face impassive as he looked at his contact. The other man was older-likely near his father's age-but the grey in his brown hair and the worn expression that seemed permanently etched on his face added extra years to his appearance.
"Daniel Osbourne," said the man in his tired voice.
"Oz," he said. "No one calls me Daniel."
The man nodded. "Very well. Then call me Remus."
Oz raised an eyebrow. He could still remember the lesson on Rome from when he had taken European history class the first time. "How appropriate."
"Purely by chance," Remus said, correctly deducing what the younger man had alluded to. "As for the Romans… well, the Muggle textbooks are not completely accurate. The original Remus and his brother were not only raised by a she-wolf; they were one of us as well."
"Muggle?" he asked, tripping slightly on the unfamiliar word.
"Non-magical humans," the older man explained.
"Ah." He decided not to press the matter but filed away the term away for later. Willow and Giles could probably learn more about it through their usual research methods; it wouldn't surprise him if they already knew of it. Thinking about Willow reminded him of his specific purpose; the sooner he could be done, the faster he could return home to his life and his family… and to her.
Perhaps Remus had the same thought. The man leaned forward, dark eyes staring straight into his. "So why are you here, Oz?" he asked bluntly, getting straight to the point. "Why risk such a dangerous journey to seek me out?"
Taking his cue from the man, Oz didn't waste any time trying to make small talk and jumped to the heart of the matter. "I need help," he said simply. "I want to learn how to control this."
Before Remus could answer, there was a rapping on the door. Three brisk knocks and as the door swung inward, he could see the other man lowering the thin wooden stick he had aimed at the entrance. Together, they watched as a tray seemingly floated into the doorway, followed by the hand that held it and then the familiar figure of Rosmerta. With the heel of her shoe, she kicked the door closed behind her and carried the tray to their table.
"Here's the firewhiskey," she said, setting down two large glasses filled with a reddish-brown liquid. "And this one," another two glasses were placed on the table, "is Kingsley's brew. Can I get you anything else?"
Remus shook his head. "Thanks, Rosmerta." He reached into his pocket and pulled out several gold and silver coins before handing them to her. "I'd go downstairs myself to pay but-"
She waved her hand. "We both know that's the last thing you should do, Remus. And I hope you're not planning to leave soon. The Carrows arrived not long ago and I just passed Yaxley on the way up."
The man nodded, his face darkening slightly at the names. "Thanks," he said again.
Rosmerta patted his hand comfortingly. "I'll send a message when they're gone," she said before nodding at them both and taking her leave.
Oz looked at the four glasses with interest. The contents of the last two Rosmerta set down were clearly recognizable, with their nearly pitch-black color and the inch-tall foam that touched the rims. He didn't even need his nose to pick out the distinctive scent of the ale.
"May I?" he asked as he tilted his head towards the Guinness.
"Of course."
They each picked up one of the dark-colored glasses and took a sip.
"Hmm," Remus said as he licked the foam away from his lips. "I haven't had this before." He sniffed at the glass and took another sip. "It's a lot like Simison's Steaming Stout but without the smoke."
Oz had never heard of Simison's, but it sounded interesting enough. He'll have to try and sample a bottle before flying back to California. "It's just Guinness, nothing special." He shrugged. "I guess it's just a 'Muggle' thing for you then."
"It's a bit different," Remus admitted. "It's not bad, just different. It's a little unusual to drink something without the usual side effects." At Oz's questioning glance, the other man pushed one of the remaining glasses toward him. "Here, try the firewhiskey. This one should be Ogden's; I don't think Rosmerta carries Blishen's version."
He picked up the glass and lifted it to his face. The liquid moved inside the glass as he jostled it but upon closer inspection, it almost appeared as if the whisky was licking the inner walls like flames. He looked to Remus, who nodded encouragingly at him, and then tipped the glass back.
It was like drinking liquid fire; he could find no other way to describe it. He could taste the whiskey as it hit his tongue before it gave way to a burning sensation as it flowed down into his stomach. It was the perfect drink to remove the chill from the wind and the cold; the firewhiskey literally warmed him up from inside out.
"Wow," he said as he set the glass down. "I see what you mean by 'side effects'."
Remus nodded before sampling some of the firewhiskey himself. "Definitely Ogden's," he murmured approvingly. He then set his glass down and looked to the younger man.
"As to your request," he began, returning to the main topic before Rosmerta interrupted them, "There really isn't a simple cure for this illness."
"I know," Oz said. "We-my friends and I-have already researched this thoroughly. Coming to you was a bit of a last resort."
"Muggle friends?"
"Not quite," Oz said. "Vampire slayer, Watcher, and other people that know of magic."
"Ah."
"And I know there's no cure, at least not yet. I just want to be able to maintain a bit of control during the change. I want to remember who I am, and I don't want to hurt innocent people by accident."
Remus nodded, understanding completely. "I assume none of your friends are witches or wizards?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then becoming Animagi is out of the question. That's what my friends did," Remus added at the look on Oz's face. "They learned to change form and kept me company as animals during those three nights every month."
"That's an impossibility, unfortunately."
"Very much so," the man agreed. "There's also the Wolfsbane Potion…"
Oz looked up from his glass. This sounded promising. "Wolfsbane Potion?"
"Yes, but…" Remus hesitated momentarily. "Well, it requires a very skilled and expert potion maker. It doesn't stop you from turning but it does allow you to maintain a sense of awareness and control over your actions."
"It's better than nothing," Oz said. "Where can I find some of this?"
"As I said, you will need an advanced potions maker to brew some. I only know of one person who has the skill and knowledge to make it but," here, a shadow crossed his face, "asking him is very much out of the question."
"Oh." So that ruled out another possible solution. "Is there nothing else that will help? How have you managed?"
Remus smiled bitterly. "It hasn't been easy. I am fortunate in having a few friends accept me the way I am. Our kind is very untrustworthy in the wizarding world and even moreso with the war and Fenrir's gang kidnapping people these days." He leaned forward, his face very serious. "If you should encounter another werewolf in these parts, run for it. Do not trust anything they say or offer - most of them are on his side."
He was confused. "War? What war? And who is Fenrir?"
The older man looked surprised. "Surely you know about the war and You-Know-Who's return?" As Oz shook his head, he asked another question. "Have you heard of Harry Potter?"
Again, he answered in the negative. "I don't know much about your world. Where I come from, we have our own battles to fight." He shrugged. "Living on a Hellmouth comes with its shares of problems."
Remus' eyebrows shot up. "A Hellmouth? Really! I did not think they existed." He then waved his hand impatiently, brushing the thought aside. "If you don't know of Harry and the ongoing wizarding war, then perhaps it's for the best." He smiled slightly. "Harry's the son of an old friend. He's about your age and I hope you'll get a chance to meet him one day. For now, I'd advise you to return to your home as soon as possible. These are dark times and it's very dangerous here. I've taken a great risk in even coming to meet you."
Oz nodded. "So I gathered," he said, thinking of the man's conversation with Rosmerta earlier.
"Please don't mistake my words. It's been a real pleasure to meet you, Oz," he said sincerely. "I only wish the timing could have been better." His face darkened again. "Though perhaps this may be the only chance we have to meet." He shook his head and looked at the other man. "I am sorry that I could not have been more helpful."
Oz shook his head. "No worries. I hadn't been expecting a cure but was hoping to learn of other means of dealing with this."
Remus studied his face thoughtfully. "It seems like you already have. From what you've told me, it sounds like you have the support of your friends and that is remarkable indeed. And you seem to have dealt with it very well so far."
"Like I said, it comes with living on a Hellmouth."
"Perhaps…" Remus trailed off, thinking for a minute. "I have heard rumors that help may be available in Tibet. During my travels, I met others of our kind who were supposedly helped by a group of Buddhist monks that live in a monastery near Lake Rakshastal. They claim the monks can teach you some techniques to help with the change. Maybe you should seek them out."
"Sounds like a plan," Oz agreed. "But it'll have to wait until school's done."
"You're still a student?"
The younger man smiled wryly. "I was held back last year due to a lack of applying myself to the work."
Remus smiled. "You remind me of some people I once knew, and others that I know now. Best of luck with that."
"And good luck to you too. I hope the good guys will win in your war."
The older man nodded. "So do I. Our best hope is out there somewhere, and with any luck, we will finally win once and for all."
Oz stood up, preparing to leave.
"Oz? A favor, if you would?"
He turned, curious. "Sure, if it's not something difficult."
"Not at all. This may sound odd, but could I have a few locks of your hair?"
It was a peculiar request but wasn't dangerous. "Sure." He paused. "Should I ask why?"
Remus smiled slightly. "A back-up plan in case there's some difficulty in leaving here. If you don't mind, I'll pretend to be you for a little while. Just enough time to exit Hogsmeade and return to my family as soon as possible. I'll wait until you're well away before I'd try to use it."
"A magical potion or something?"
"Yes, exactly."
Oz shrugged. "If that's how I can help, so be it." He reached up and quickly yanked a few strands near the base of this neck. "Here."
"Thanks. I'll only use it as a last resort."
Oz smiled. "I totally get that." He made his way toward the door. With his hand on the handle, he turned back. "I hope we can meet again one day."
Remus nodded. "I hope so as well."
Oz nodded once to him and then stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him. He heard the lock turn and proceeded down the corridor without looking back.
He didn't quite get what he wanted but it hadn't been a futile quest either. It was comforting to find someone else just like him and to be able to talk and have that person understand exactly what he was going through. He really hoped to see Remus Lupin again one day.
But for now, it was time to go home.
Here be footnotes:
The code phrase that Oz and Rosmerta used is an Irish blessing or toast.
The "Muggle assignment" Remus refers to was when Kingsley Shacklebolt worked undercover in the Prime Minister's office as his secretary in Half-Blood Prince.
"Simison's Steaming Stout" is a brand of ale that could be seen in the Prisoner of Azkaban film.
I've actually tried to fit this into the book/tv canon of both fandoms at the exact same point in time. The timing is late January, or early February of 1998. After much researching, this is about the only time when both Oz and Lupin would be able to meet and fit within the requirements of the story. Phases aired in January 1998, which is right in the middle of Deathly Hallows. Harry, Ron and Hermione are still camping out all across the UK (according to the timeline, they aren't captured by Fenrir and his Snatchers until March); Tonks hasn't given birth yet (that will be April) and everyone else are either fighting or in hiding.
Crosspost: http://autumnia.dreamwidth.org/14528.html
Title: In the Company of Wolves
Spoilers: Buffy Season 2, post-Phases; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (bookverse)
Prompt: Remus Lupin, Oz, pints of Guinness at the Three Broomsticks
All species capable of grasping this fact manage better in the struggle for existence than those which rely upon their own strength alone: the wolf, which hunts in a pack, has a greater chance of survival than the lion, which hunts alone.
- Christian Lous Lange
***
As soon as he walked into the village, he wondered if he had taken a step back in time.
The scene before him looked as if belonged in a Currier and Ives print. With the entire area blanketed in snow, the picturesque village of Hogsmeade seemed to have popped out of an old-fashioned Christmas card. Bits of garland and ribbon peeked out from beneath the snow-dusted eaves and around the lamp-posts that lined the street. Holly wreaths hung from almost every door and he caught sight of berries tucked amongst the leaves, their ruby color dulled slightly by the frost.
It was very much like a scene from those period films that Willow enjoyed from time to time. And yet he knew this was not an ordinary place; there was definitely something usual about this Scottish village.
He turned his head slightly to look at the lamp-post beside him. With traces of snow clinging to the metal, the iron post appeared to be grey. Using a gloved hand, he brushed some of the flakes off, revealing a small patch of the dull black color beneath. He tilted his head back, looking up at the lantern atop the pole. Light flickered from within the glass panes, the orange flames glowing brightly and adding a spot of color to the wintry white landscape. The lamp-post itself wasn't unusual; its Victorian shape fit perfectly within the confines of the village.
He knew that in the old days, people would go around the town to manually light the street lamps. It wasn't a surprise to see the cheery flames burning brightly inside this particular lantern. What made it unusual was that the glowing orb was floating inside its cage. He watched as the fireball slowly bounced up and down and moved side to side within the glass box.
"Huh." A pale, white cloud blossomed before him as he let out a breath when he spoke. He watched it briefly until the wind blew it away, vanishing into the cold air. He then turned his attention back to the lamp-post. "Narnian, perhaps?" he murmured quietly with amusement, thinking of the old children's book about a girl, a lamp-post, and a wintry wonderland.
Considering the unusual nature of Hogsmeade, it would not surprise him at all if he should happen across a faun walking down the high street with packages in his arm and carrying an umbrella. For good measure, he swept away the snow at the base of the lamp-post with the bottom of his boot and took a quick look at the ground. The decorative panels at the base were firmly attached to the sidewalk with thick metal screws, and not growing up out of the stone and cement. Clearly not Narnian then.
He shook his head, chasing the irrelevant thoughts away. As he resumed his walk, he thought back to the events that led him here. One memory after another played in his head, the scenes appearing as both a timeline and slideshow in his mind. His cousin Jordy sucking playfully on his finger before the young boy bit him. The sudden aches and pain that began to plague him a month ago. The phone call to Aunt Maureen. Waking up naked in the forest with no recollection of what he had been doing. The Slayer, the Gang and the hunter.
The kiss with Willow.
He smiled to himself, the happy thought bringing a welcome warmth that flowed through his chilled limbs. Willow. It was because of her that he was here.
He looked around, eyes darting left and right as he glanced at the shops along the street. Despite the festive decorations, the village seemed eerily quiet. The street wasn't empty; up ahead he could see a few people walking about, flitting quickly from one store to another without stopping or looking around. The only sound he could hear came from below him, his boots crunching loudly in the snow with each step he took.
He picked up his pace, remembering his contact's instructions. In the message, there had been a mention of a curfew after dusk. Perhaps that explained some of the gloom that permeated the town.
His destination was halfway up the narrow street. It was a squat building with two floors and unlike most of the other shops, it gave off a friendlier aura with curls of smoke rising out of the chimney and bright lights glowing through the fogged up windows on the ground floor.
The sign above the door creaked as the wind forced it to swing slowly in the air. As it moved, a small cascade of snow fell from the top of the wooden plaque, revealing a drawing of three crossed broomsticks. Shivering from the cold, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He was instantly greeted by the scent of smoke and ale; the smells were strong and sharp to his sensitive nose. He looked around, trying to find a particular face amidst the crowded tables.
"Can I help you?" asked the woman that approached him. She was older than his mother but with a pretty face and curvy figure that took several years off her age. Her brightly-color heels clattered along the wooden floor. "Are you looking for a room or a table?"
"Are you Rosmerta?" he asked.
She nodded and smiled slightly.
He took a breath and recited the lines from the letter. "May you have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night and-"
"-a smooth road all the way to your door," she said, completing the phrase. Her eyes widened and she glanced surreptitiously around. And then in a louder voice, "Yes, we do have some rooms to let. If you'll follow me, I'll show you what's available."
She led him upstairs where a narrow hallway greeted them. Doors lined either side and she continued down the corridor until they reached the far end. With a bejeweled hand, she rapped three times on the last door.
After a minute, they heard a click as the lock turned from the other side. The door slowly swung open and after a nod from Rosmerta, he stepped inside. The room was dark but he could see a tall figure sitting at a table by the window. The man gestured to the empty chair on the opposite side.
As he took his seat, the landlady poked her head through the doorway but didn't enter. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, the question directed at both of them. "Butterbeer? Gillywater? Or perhaps something stronger?"
"Two pints of the Firewhiskey, if you don't mind, Rosmerta," said the other man in a voice that sounded both weary and hoarse.
"Not at all. Anything else?"
With a quick glance at him, the man added, "And if there's any left, perhaps two pints of that strange brew Kingsley brought back a few years ago when his assignment in Muggle London was over."
Rosmerta nodded and slipped out, quietly pulling the door shut behind her.
The room was still for several minutes as they studied each other. He kept his face impassive as he looked at his contact. The other man was older-likely near his father's age-but the grey in his brown hair and the worn expression that seemed permanently etched on his face added extra years to his appearance.
"Daniel Osbourne," said the man in his tired voice.
"Oz," he said. "No one calls me Daniel."
The man nodded. "Very well. Then call me Remus."
Oz raised an eyebrow. He could still remember the lesson on Rome from when he had taken European history class the first time. "How appropriate."
"Purely by chance," Remus said, correctly deducing what the younger man had alluded to. "As for the Romans… well, the Muggle textbooks are not completely accurate. The original Remus and his brother were not only raised by a she-wolf; they were one of us as well."
"Muggle?" he asked, tripping slightly on the unfamiliar word.
"Non-magical humans," the older man explained.
"Ah." He decided not to press the matter but filed away the term away for later. Willow and Giles could probably learn more about it through their usual research methods; it wouldn't surprise him if they already knew of it. Thinking about Willow reminded him of his specific purpose; the sooner he could be done, the faster he could return home to his life and his family… and to her.
Perhaps Remus had the same thought. The man leaned forward, dark eyes staring straight into his. "So why are you here, Oz?" he asked bluntly, getting straight to the point. "Why risk such a dangerous journey to seek me out?"
Taking his cue from the man, Oz didn't waste any time trying to make small talk and jumped to the heart of the matter. "I need help," he said simply. "I want to learn how to control this."
Before Remus could answer, there was a rapping on the door. Three brisk knocks and as the door swung inward, he could see the other man lowering the thin wooden stick he had aimed at the entrance. Together, they watched as a tray seemingly floated into the doorway, followed by the hand that held it and then the familiar figure of Rosmerta. With the heel of her shoe, she kicked the door closed behind her and carried the tray to their table.
"Here's the firewhiskey," she said, setting down two large glasses filled with a reddish-brown liquid. "And this one," another two glasses were placed on the table, "is Kingsley's brew. Can I get you anything else?"
Remus shook his head. "Thanks, Rosmerta." He reached into his pocket and pulled out several gold and silver coins before handing them to her. "I'd go downstairs myself to pay but-"
She waved her hand. "We both know that's the last thing you should do, Remus. And I hope you're not planning to leave soon. The Carrows arrived not long ago and I just passed Yaxley on the way up."
The man nodded, his face darkening slightly at the names. "Thanks," he said again.
Rosmerta patted his hand comfortingly. "I'll send a message when they're gone," she said before nodding at them both and taking her leave.
Oz looked at the four glasses with interest. The contents of the last two Rosmerta set down were clearly recognizable, with their nearly pitch-black color and the inch-tall foam that touched the rims. He didn't even need his nose to pick out the distinctive scent of the ale.
"May I?" he asked as he tilted his head towards the Guinness.
"Of course."
They each picked up one of the dark-colored glasses and took a sip.
"Hmm," Remus said as he licked the foam away from his lips. "I haven't had this before." He sniffed at the glass and took another sip. "It's a lot like Simison's Steaming Stout but without the smoke."
Oz had never heard of Simison's, but it sounded interesting enough. He'll have to try and sample a bottle before flying back to California. "It's just Guinness, nothing special." He shrugged. "I guess it's just a 'Muggle' thing for you then."
"It's a bit different," Remus admitted. "It's not bad, just different. It's a little unusual to drink something without the usual side effects." At Oz's questioning glance, the other man pushed one of the remaining glasses toward him. "Here, try the firewhiskey. This one should be Ogden's; I don't think Rosmerta carries Blishen's version."
He picked up the glass and lifted it to his face. The liquid moved inside the glass as he jostled it but upon closer inspection, it almost appeared as if the whisky was licking the inner walls like flames. He looked to Remus, who nodded encouragingly at him, and then tipped the glass back.
It was like drinking liquid fire; he could find no other way to describe it. He could taste the whiskey as it hit his tongue before it gave way to a burning sensation as it flowed down into his stomach. It was the perfect drink to remove the chill from the wind and the cold; the firewhiskey literally warmed him up from inside out.
"Wow," he said as he set the glass down. "I see what you mean by 'side effects'."
Remus nodded before sampling some of the firewhiskey himself. "Definitely Ogden's," he murmured approvingly. He then set his glass down and looked to the younger man.
"As to your request," he began, returning to the main topic before Rosmerta interrupted them, "There really isn't a simple cure for this illness."
"I know," Oz said. "We-my friends and I-have already researched this thoroughly. Coming to you was a bit of a last resort."
"Muggle friends?"
"Not quite," Oz said. "Vampire slayer, Watcher, and other people that know of magic."
"Ah."
"And I know there's no cure, at least not yet. I just want to be able to maintain a bit of control during the change. I want to remember who I am, and I don't want to hurt innocent people by accident."
Remus nodded, understanding completely. "I assume none of your friends are witches or wizards?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then becoming Animagi is out of the question. That's what my friends did," Remus added at the look on Oz's face. "They learned to change form and kept me company as animals during those three nights every month."
"That's an impossibility, unfortunately."
"Very much so," the man agreed. "There's also the Wolfsbane Potion…"
Oz looked up from his glass. This sounded promising. "Wolfsbane Potion?"
"Yes, but…" Remus hesitated momentarily. "Well, it requires a very skilled and expert potion maker. It doesn't stop you from turning but it does allow you to maintain a sense of awareness and control over your actions."
"It's better than nothing," Oz said. "Where can I find some of this?"
"As I said, you will need an advanced potions maker to brew some. I only know of one person who has the skill and knowledge to make it but," here, a shadow crossed his face, "asking him is very much out of the question."
"Oh." So that ruled out another possible solution. "Is there nothing else that will help? How have you managed?"
Remus smiled bitterly. "It hasn't been easy. I am fortunate in having a few friends accept me the way I am. Our kind is very untrustworthy in the wizarding world and even moreso with the war and Fenrir's gang kidnapping people these days." He leaned forward, his face very serious. "If you should encounter another werewolf in these parts, run for it. Do not trust anything they say or offer - most of them are on his side."
He was confused. "War? What war? And who is Fenrir?"
The older man looked surprised. "Surely you know about the war and You-Know-Who's return?" As Oz shook his head, he asked another question. "Have you heard of Harry Potter?"
Again, he answered in the negative. "I don't know much about your world. Where I come from, we have our own battles to fight." He shrugged. "Living on a Hellmouth comes with its shares of problems."
Remus' eyebrows shot up. "A Hellmouth? Really! I did not think they existed." He then waved his hand impatiently, brushing the thought aside. "If you don't know of Harry and the ongoing wizarding war, then perhaps it's for the best." He smiled slightly. "Harry's the son of an old friend. He's about your age and I hope you'll get a chance to meet him one day. For now, I'd advise you to return to your home as soon as possible. These are dark times and it's very dangerous here. I've taken a great risk in even coming to meet you."
Oz nodded. "So I gathered," he said, thinking of the man's conversation with Rosmerta earlier.
"Please don't mistake my words. It's been a real pleasure to meet you, Oz," he said sincerely. "I only wish the timing could have been better." His face darkened again. "Though perhaps this may be the only chance we have to meet." He shook his head and looked at the other man. "I am sorry that I could not have been more helpful."
Oz shook his head. "No worries. I hadn't been expecting a cure but was hoping to learn of other means of dealing with this."
Remus studied his face thoughtfully. "It seems like you already have. From what you've told me, it sounds like you have the support of your friends and that is remarkable indeed. And you seem to have dealt with it very well so far."
"Like I said, it comes with living on a Hellmouth."
"Perhaps…" Remus trailed off, thinking for a minute. "I have heard rumors that help may be available in Tibet. During my travels, I met others of our kind who were supposedly helped by a group of Buddhist monks that live in a monastery near Lake Rakshastal. They claim the monks can teach you some techniques to help with the change. Maybe you should seek them out."
"Sounds like a plan," Oz agreed. "But it'll have to wait until school's done."
"You're still a student?"
The younger man smiled wryly. "I was held back last year due to a lack of applying myself to the work."
Remus smiled. "You remind me of some people I once knew, and others that I know now. Best of luck with that."
"And good luck to you too. I hope the good guys will win in your war."
The older man nodded. "So do I. Our best hope is out there somewhere, and with any luck, we will finally win once and for all."
Oz stood up, preparing to leave.
"Oz? A favor, if you would?"
He turned, curious. "Sure, if it's not something difficult."
"Not at all. This may sound odd, but could I have a few locks of your hair?"
It was a peculiar request but wasn't dangerous. "Sure." He paused. "Should I ask why?"
Remus smiled slightly. "A back-up plan in case there's some difficulty in leaving here. If you don't mind, I'll pretend to be you for a little while. Just enough time to exit Hogsmeade and return to my family as soon as possible. I'll wait until you're well away before I'd try to use it."
"A magical potion or something?"
"Yes, exactly."
Oz shrugged. "If that's how I can help, so be it." He reached up and quickly yanked a few strands near the base of this neck. "Here."
"Thanks. I'll only use it as a last resort."
Oz smiled. "I totally get that." He made his way toward the door. With his hand on the handle, he turned back. "I hope we can meet again one day."
Remus nodded. "I hope so as well."
Oz nodded once to him and then stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him. He heard the lock turn and proceeded down the corridor without looking back.
He didn't quite get what he wanted but it hadn't been a futile quest either. It was comforting to find someone else just like him and to be able to talk and have that person understand exactly what he was going through. He really hoped to see Remus Lupin again one day.
But for now, it was time to go home.
Here be footnotes:
The code phrase that Oz and Rosmerta used is an Irish blessing or toast.
The "Muggle assignment" Remus refers to was when Kingsley Shacklebolt worked undercover in the Prime Minister's office as his secretary in Half-Blood Prince.
"Simison's Steaming Stout" is a brand of ale that could be seen in the Prisoner of Azkaban film.
I've actually tried to fit this into the book/tv canon of both fandoms at the exact same point in time. The timing is late January, or early February of 1998. After much researching, this is about the only time when both Oz and Lupin would be able to meet and fit within the requirements of the story. Phases aired in January 1998, which is right in the middle of Deathly Hallows. Harry, Ron and Hermione are still camping out all across the UK (according to the timeline, they aren't captured by Fenrir and his Snatchers until March); Tonks hasn't given birth yet (that will be April) and everyone else are either fighting or in hiding.
Crosspost: http://autumnia.dreamwidth.org/14528.html